Chapter Ten Walls and Windows

Being observed wasn't something Michael Hudson was accustomed to.

Being unpredictable, keeping people guessing, and displaying just enough charm to deflect attention from the edges he concealed beneath his custom suits and million-dollar smiles were the foundations of his empires. Up until now, vulnerability had always been a weakness he could afford to ignore.

However, Lorna Jenkins was able to see through the gaps.

He was more uneasy about that than he wanted to acknowledge.

From the upstairs window, Michael watched, drink in hand, untouched, as the Hudson estate's automated gates rolled shut behind her small sedan. He wasn't thinking about business, news, or the next tactic in the boardroom. Without asking any intrusive questions, the therapist was able to disarm him.

It didn't sit well with him.

Nor did he despise it.

Frame by frame, he reenacted their session. Her composure. Her tone was non-pushy and non-pitying. She had been clear in her speech, even subtly defiant. And that had roused something dormant in him more than her soft prodding.

Interest.

Not appeal. Not just yet. Something stranger, something quieter. An inquisitiveness that pestered his intuition.

He whispered to himself, "She's not like the others."

He had encountered dozens of attractive women. He had avoided emotional mines, endured gold-diggers, and engaged in sophisticated conversations. Lorna, however, was unique. Not because she was hot. However, she wasn't attempting to pique his interest.

She had nothing to ask of him.

She was dangerous because of that.

The employees went about their work downstairs in polite silence. In recent weeks, the air in the mansion had become too heavy and too still. Like a wounded lion they hoped wouldn't lash out, everyone walked carefully around him.

Lorna excluded.

She hadn't walked on her toes. She had given him a direct look. called out his resentment as if it were furniture that was taking up too much room.

And she had handled everything with poise.

Michael put his glass down and made his way to the piano in the corner, which he hadn't played in months. His fingers were hovering over the keys as he sat at the bench. Then he performed for the first time since the wedding-that-wasn't.

A few notes only.

Raw and melancholic.

The ease with which the music came back startled him. How easily the sorrow ran through his fingers.

His brow furrowed as he gazed at the keys as the melody faded. "Jenkins, what are you doing to me?"

Her business card sat unbent in the drawer of his nightstand upstairs. It wasn't necessary for him. He recalled the number.

He was already counting down the hours until next week, even though he wouldn't say it out loud.